2O2 cloth-shrouded faces that could not be seen, were alive and real, At that moment the mask was suffocating to him. Its privacy was hideous, cutting him off from everything, from everyone. From all the world. He lifted his left hand, slowly; then, as though stifling, he tore the mask from his face, and took a long stride toward Trevelyan, and thrust out his head and called, "Trevelyan!" The man's mouth moved without sound, then said, "I knowed hit was you." "Trevelyan!" Mr. Munn thought how sick, how afraid, how stifled, those men were under their masks. He gulped a full, deep, exquisite breath, like a man who rises from a long dive, and with burning lungs and bursting heart plunges, chest-high, into air. " And you, Trevelyan "—and he took another stride—" you killed that man, you did; answer me!" He was almost upon him. Trevelyan moved, lifted his arm. The pistol exploded in Mr. Munn's grasp. He swung back from Trevelyan, seeing, even in that light, the man's narrow eyes go suddenly wide. Like a belated echo, another shot was fired. Who fired it, Mr. Munn did not know. Trevelyan staggered, and crossed his hands on his chest with a movement that was sad, almost womanly, humble. Then, there came the volley. Trevelyan sagged, then fell backward over the lip of the quarry. There was not a sound. There was nothing there in the little space before the men. Even the grass did not look trodden. It was as though nothing had been there. The smell of gun smoke hung on the air, sharp and cleanly like the smell of a disinfectant. The men let their arms, which had been outstretched, sink to their sides. " He fell over," somebody said in a hushed tone. It was as though he had just witnessed an accident. Nobody moved.